


you've gotten into my bloodstream

by hyruling



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Vampire, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Violence, Supernatural Elements, basically chapter 2 but eddie is a vampire, eddie hypnotizes richie for like a second but it's not serious enough to warrant the tag, its all for a laugh friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyruling/pseuds/hyruling
Summary: “Eddie’s a vampire,” Mike explains matter of factly, absolutely no trace of irony in his voice.“What?” Richie barks, voice echoing loudly around the cavern. “He’s awhat?”“A vampire,” Eddie repeats. His fangs pop out for emphasis, and he points to them. “Obviously.”“Oh,obviously,” Richie breathes faintly. “How fuckingsillyof me to not realize my best friend is a mythical creature, I’msosorry.”“I sent an email,” Eddie says simply.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 355





	you've gotten into my bloodstream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallingthorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthorns/gifts).



> happy halloween!!! 
> 
> meg said "someone write a fix it where eddie shows up at the jade but he's a vampire", and i thought it was the funniest fucking concept ever so. here we are. happy belated bday my dear meg, i love u so much and hope you like it <3
> 
> this was written pretty quickly and barely edited, apologies in advance for any grammatical/spelling mistakes. i could have spent more time on this and made it better but i really wanted to post in time for halloween so it was a bit rushed. vampire lore was taken from several different sources so if something looks familiar, no it doesn't <3
> 
> cws: minor violence, descriptions of blood, brief emetophobia, mild body horror. very brief, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to stan's attempted suicide. eddie hypnotizes richie for like a second but it's not weird i promise. richie drinks too much to cope with his feelings. this is all lighthearted and fun, but it is about vampires and is mostly canon compliant except for a few major changes, so. as always feel free to reach out if you're concerned about anything before reading. 
> 
> title from "bloodstream" by stateless.

They’re missing someone. 

Richie looks around for the third time, counting as he goes this time. Bill, Bev, Ben (were there always so many fucking B’s?), Stan, Mike, and himself. An empty chair sits between Stan and Mike. 

Last he checked, that added up to six. And they didn’t call themselves the Lucky _Six_. 

“Who are we missing?” Richie asks, taking a sip of the water their waitress just dropped off at the table. 

“Eddie,” Mike answers. Richie’s heart skips a beat inexplicably, head going fuzzy like he’s trying to remember something important. Mike glances down at his wrist. “He said he’d be a little late.” 

“Eddie?” Bev asks, voice a little airy like she’s trying to piece something together. “Oh my—Eddie! How did I forget about Eddie Kaspbrak?” 

The full name is what makes the hairs on Richie’s arms stand straight up. _Eddie Fucking Kaspbrak._ He starts sweating, taking another nervous sip of his water, and Stan catches his eye. He can’t quite meet his gaze. 

“Who forgot about me?” 

They turn, and there he is—Eddie Kaspbrak in the flesh, more beautiful than Richie remembers, even dressed in the eyesore other people would call a polo shirt. 

Eddie smiles when Bev cries his name, accepting her hug as well as one from Bill, then Stan. Mike shakes his hand, and Ben claps him on the shoulder as he makes his way to the empty chair next to Stan. Richie is rooted to the spot, frozen and speechless when Eddie turns to face him head on. 

“What, no dumbass greeting?” Eddie says with a crooked grin, just as sharp as when they were kids. 

He’s so fucked. 

“Sorry, didn’t see you come in,” Richie retorts, grinning and flagging down their waitress with one hand. “Could barely see you over the top of the table.” 

“Fuck you,” Eddie spits, dimples out in full force. 

Richie orders shots. 

* * *

Eddie doesn’t eat anything. He claims he ate on the plane when pressed by their waitress, brandishing a laminated list of food allergies and asking her to please pour him a glass of the red wine he brought with him to the restaurant. He asks every person at the table if they ordered anything with garlic, because even being around the fumes or some shit can apparently make him break out in hives. He sounds exactly like every pretentious health nut Richie’s ever met in LA, and he’s obsessed with him. 

Four shots later and Richie finds himself challenging Eddie to an arm wrestling match. Eddie wins, easily, throwing a little wink over his shoulder when they return to their seats so Richie can wallow. Stan interrupts with a story about his wife, glancing at Richie out of the corner of his eye. 

Two hours in, Richie is miserable—heartsick and drunk and mopey even while being surrounded by the people he loves most. Then Mike drops the bombshell of why he brought them all back together, and he realizes he actually _can_ feel worse. 

The clown spells out a horrifying message with fortune cookies that makes Stan go pale, and then they’re being attacked, out of their seats and yelling incoherently as various items at the table warp and distort into shit straight out of nightmares. 

Eddie doesn’t react the way the rest of them do, looking around the table in bewilderment when Bill first jumps away from an enormous mangled spider. 

“What the fuck are you guys—“

Eddie’s cut off by Richie, who yelps in alarm when the chopsticks in his hand turn to live snakes. He throws them across the table and jerks back, falling out of his chair—

Eddie is there, catching him with a strong grip just before his tailbone makes contact with the floor. 

“How the fuck—“ Richie gasps, but then Bev screams and Eddie is whipping Richie upright and rushing to her side. 

The room descends into chaos. Eddie sticks close to Richie when he can, standing in front of him protectively when he shies away from the other monstrosities swirling around his head. Stan gets spooked so bad he crumbles to the floor—Richie blinks and Eddie is at Stan’s side, gentle hand on his upper arm, whispering something Richie can’t make out and coaxing him back up. 

It stops as suddenly as it started, just as their waitress comes back to find the room in disarray. 

“Check please,” Richie jokes weakly. Eddie is the only one that smiles. 

* * *

  
  


“Are you really leaving?” Eddie asks him later, following him to the threshold of Richie’s room at the Townhouse. 

“I don’t—fuck Eds, I don’t know,” Richie says, gathering up his suitcase, still zipped closed. He throws it on the bed and just stares at it. 

“I think you should stay,” Eddie tells him. 

Richie whips around—Eddie’s still just hovering in the doorway. 

“What the fuck?” Richie asks, stepping closer. Eddie doesn’t falter, just meets him with a level gaze. “You were with me out there, you said—“ 

“I know what I said,” Eddie says, crossing his arms. “But I’ve been thinking, and I think we should fight it.” 

“You’ve been _thinking_?” Richie asks, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “You’ve had a complete change of heart in what, ten minutes?” 

“That’s a lot of time,” Eddie says with a shrug. 

“Why are you just standing there?” Richie demands suddenly. “You can come in.” 

Eddie moves quickly. Richie blinks and then he’s right there, far closer than Richie anticipated. He doesn’t back away, though everything in him screams to put distance between them. 

“You’re drunk,” Eddie says gently, hand reaching up to touch Richie’s neck. His touch is featherlight, fingertips so cold Richie almost asks about his circulation. “You should get some sleep.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Richie lies. 

“You are. I can s—I can tell,” Eddie says, removing his hand. “Lay down.” 

“Eddie—“

“You can still leave in the morning, if you really want to go,” Eddie says. “But you’re not driving like this.” 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Richie says around a laugh. Eddie doesn’t smile. 

“No, I’m not,” Eddie says. “But you’ll have to get around me if you want to leave right now.” 

“Big talk for such a little man,” Richie says, yanking his suitcase off the bed without looking away. “See you at the twenty year reunion Eds.” 

He makes it two steps before Eddie grabs the other handle, tugging Richie back. “Richie. Lay down.” 

“Eds, kindly fuck off,” Richie snaps. 

Eddie sighs, grip tightening on Richie’s suitcase. “Don’t make me do this, Richie. I fucking _hate_ doing this.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Instead of answering, Eddie steps closer. Richie’s breath catches when Eddie cups Richie’s face. The eye contact is staggering this time, almost painful, but Richie can’t look away. He can’t even close his eyes, compelled by some force he can’t explain to keep looking into Eddie’s eyes. 

“Richie,” Eddie says, voice low and sultry. 

His heart should be pounding. He should be breaking out in a cold sweat with Eddie this close, with his hands on his skin, but instead his heart rate slows, everything going syrupy and hazy at the edges. 

“You’re going to lay down,” Eddie continues, slow and calm. “And you’re going to sleep for the next eight hours. I’ll set you an alarm for when it’s time to meet Mike. You can decide in the morning if you’re staying or not.” 

“Okay,” Richie hears himself agree, eyes drooping closed. 

He lets Eddie lead him to the bed, follows easily when Eddie directs him to pull his legs up and underneath the covers. His shoes disappear somewhere in between, but Richie is too sleepy to catch it. 

“I’m sorry Rich,” Eddie whispers as he’s drifting off. “I promise I won’t do that to you again.” 

“S’okay,” Richie says easily, head full of cotton. 

The last thing he feels before falling asleep is Eddie’s cool hand on his forehead. 

* * *

“Tokens?” Eddie asks incredulously, some twelve hours later. 

The day had been a bust. Richie woke up alone to the alarm clock on his end table blaring, and Eddie was nowhere to be found. The others merely shrugged when Richie asked about him, and Mike insisted they carry out his plan without him. Richie, unable to determine if Eddie had abandoned them or was just having a nice little lie in, waited around for him before making any decisions about putting Derry in his rearview. 

One Paul Bunyan arcade horror show later, Richie is sitting across from Eddie in the bar of the Townhouse. Eddie looks different tonight, dressed in a sleek black t-shirt and jeans that are more form fitting than yesterday’s outfit. He looks pale in the dim light of the bar, drinking another glass of his precious red wine. 

“Do you know where you would find yours?” Ben asks Eddie. 

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, but no fucking way I’m going near that place,” he says decisively. 

Bill looks affronted, as does Mike. “Eddie—“ 

“No, listen, this is stupid. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there this morning, and Mike I don’t mean to invalidate your plan, but it’s not going to work.”

“What do you know about it?” Mike asks, challenging and a little angry. “I’m the one that’s been here all this time, I’m the one who’s been researching for _years_ —“

“I know, Mike, I’m sorry, I really am,” Eddie says, brown eyes wide and sincere. He puts a hand on Mike’s shoulder, looking at him seriously when he says, “But trust me when I say it’s not going to work.” 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Stan asks. 

Eddie takes a long sip, looking between the six of them, like he’s looking for the answer in their faces. His eyes land on Richie last, and it’s his gaze he holds when he drops the bomb. 

“We go into the sewer and kill this fucking clown.”

* * *

  
  


There’s a lot of arguments and protests that follow that statement, but a couple of hours later, in the dead of the night, Richie finds himself trailing in Eddie’s wake as they descend into hell. 

They’re silent for most of the climb down, only speaking to call instructions or warnings about pieces of stone or tree roots jutting out from the walls. The clown doesn’t make itself known until half way through, when Bev gets dragged under water. Eddie is the first one to dive after her, followed by Mike, Ben, and Richie himself, but it’s Eddie that pulls her back to safety, sputtering and coughing but okay. 

“You okay with this?” Richie asks Eddie a few minutes later, when they’re still waist deep in sewer water. 

Eddie glances back at him. “Of course I am, it was my idea.”

“No I know that, but we’re like. Basically bathing in greywater here. You probably inhaled some of it when you saved Bev, are you like. Are you good?” 

Eddie shrugs, catching Ben with one arm when he trips next to him. “It’s gross, but I’ve seen worse.” 

“I know that, Eddie baby, I was there when you were covered in shit and screaming at It thirty years ago,” Richie says with a laugh. 

Eddie pauses abruptly. Richie bumps into his back, heart jumping to his throat when Eddie turns to face him. 

“‘Eddie baby’, huh?”

Richie blushes—Eddie doesn’t. 

“Yeah—cause you’re just so cute,” Richie deflects, pinching Eddie’s cheek. 

Eddie yanks his head out of his grip, looking straight through Richie as he smirks and says, “Uh huh.” 

“We’re almost to the lair,” Mike’s voice calls back. 

Eddie whips around. “Let me go first.” 

“Eds—“ Richie starts, but Eddie’s already taken off, wading through the water faster than should be possible. 

Eddie leads them down the rocky outcrop, ignoring Richie’s protests, leading the way with a determined confidence that baffles him. 

“What is he doing?” Richie whispers to Stan and Bev when they’re almost all the way down. 

Bev shrugs, focusing hard on her footing. “Being Eddie.”

“What do you mean, ‘being Eddie’?” Richie demands. “He was not like this when we were kids.” 

“Yes he was,” Stan counters. “I mean, he wasn’t as cool with going into the sewers, but he was always brave.” 

“I know that,” Richie says, stumbling and catching Stan’s arm to right himself. “But he’s just. I don’t know. There’s something different about him.” 

They’re interrupted by an eerie laughing below them, high pitched and chilling. It’s the laughter Richie has heard in his nightmares his whole life, the laughter that still makes Richie’s blood run cold, even after all this time.

“Think we need to put a pin in this for now,” Stan says grimly, looking at the two of them seriously. “Come on.” 

* * *

They don’t get much time for strategy. They gather on the creepy dais that looks like a gaping mouth, and then they hear the laughter again, this time much closer. Richie is just about to ask about the plan when It’s laughter echoes from right beside him—he sees nothing when he turns. 

“Welcome back losers,” It taunts, voice echoing in the air between them. “Are you ready to play my game?” 

They look at each other uneasily, huddling closer instinctively. All but Eddie, who rolls his eyes and starts circling around them, looking for the source of It’s voice. 

“Would you just get the fuck out here? Fucking coward,” Eddie snaps. 

“Eddie,” Mike hisses, trying to grab his arm as he passes. Eddie brushes him off and continues circling their huddled group protectively. 

“I’m serious. You’ve been yanking our dicks long enough, let’s get this over with,” Eddie yells. Richie snorts—Bill and Ben give him a look, but he can’t help it. Eddie is fucking funny. 

“Such a big mouth you’ve got, little Eddie Kaspbrak,” It jeers. “Too much time with that Richie boy, just like mommy always said. Would be a shame if we sewed it shut.” 

Bev screams—Eddie frowns at her, confused, and all the breath leaves Richie’s lungs when he sees why. Eddie’s mouth starts stitching itself together. A needle pierces his lips, pulled tight by invisible hands, over and over until his entire mouth is stitched. Richie thinks he might puke. 

“Eddie!” Bill cries, reaching for him. “Your mouth—“ 

Eddie’s frown disappears, and he laughs. The stitches disappear as if they were never there at all. 

“Nice try, fucker,” Eddie says, laughing louder. “Your stupid magic tricks won’t work on me.” 

It roars, and the room suddenly pulses with light. They look up to see three orbs descending, and Mike immediately screams at them not to look. 

Eddie keeps his face tilted up, grinning maniacally at the deadlights. 

Wind starts blowing inexplicably as the lights descend, howling in the underground lair. Richie can’t hear what Mike is yelling at them—Eddie keeps circling, keeps his face raised to the lights. 

“Eddie!” Richie cries, grabbing his wrist as he passes. His other hand lands on Eddie’s cheek to pull his face away from the deadlights. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“They can’t hurt me Rich,” Eddie says loudly over the wind. “It’s okay.” 

Eddie touches Richie’s hand on his face, pulls it free and presses his lips to the tender skin of his wrist. Then he’s gone, stalking closer to the lights before Richie can even process what just happened. 

The deadlights slowly disappear, grow smaller and smaller until they’re nothing, fading and twisting into a red ribbon on the ground. The ribbon grows, distorts and changes into a single red balloon, slowly inflating before them. Eddie laughs.

“Fucking finally,” he says. “Everyone stay behind me.” 

“Eddie what the _fuck_ ,” Richie protests, but the others obey without hesitation. They crowd behind Eddie, waiting as the balloon gets bigger and bigger. 

“Eds—“ Richie tries again, reaching for him. Stan grabs his arm and pulls him back, shaking his head. 

“Trust him, Rich,” is all he says. 

“ _Dude,_ ” Richie snaps, losing his cool when the balloon is as big as Eddie. “He’s going to get himself killed, and none of you are at all concerned?” 

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie snarls, looking back to shoot him a glare before turning his attention back to the balloon. 

And it may just be a trick of the light, but it looked for a second as though Eddie had fangs. 

He doesn’t get time to examine that further, because at that moment Eddie lunges towards the balloon and it explodes with a deafening _pop!_

The six of them move at once, rushing to crowd around Eddie when the dust clears and the clown appears, tiny and cowering. 

“See,” Eddie says with a laugh, and he _definitely_ has fangs now, glinting in the glow from Bill’s flashlight. “Just a stupid fucking clown.” 

It’s face changes, grows darker, eyes narrowing as it grows to full size. Richie gears himself up, looking around for a weapon (why the fuck did they not bring _weapons_ ) but it doesn’t matter. As soon as It is full size, Eddie tackles It, moving in a blur of motion that Richie doesn’t quite catch. Eddie and It drop to the ground with a spray of blood that coats them all—Richie cries out Eddie’s name, sure the blood is his, and again Stan holds him back. 

It screams in agony. Eddie is still a blur, hovering over It’s body and using his teeth and his fucking _fangs_ , what the _fuck_ , to rip It’s throat out. 

The deadlights reappear, only to pulse and writhe in their death throes as It dies with a high pitched wail, deflating like a bloody balloon. 

Richie doesn’t dare look at the others, can’t even breathe as he watches Eddie, still crouched over It’s dead body. Someone squeezes his hand—he’s not sure who, still transfixed by Eddie’s blood soaked figure on the ground. 

Eventually Eddie stands up, body blurring with the motion, and turns to face them. His mouth and neck drip with blood, hands and clothes coated in it. There’s so much that Richie finds himself nonsensically looking for evidence of a wound. 

“So,” Eddie starts, fangs sticking out. He seems to remember himself in that moment and retracts them with a little _pfft_ sound. “Should we go?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He brushes past them, heading back the way they came without another word. 

“What the _fuck!_ ” Richie screams when he finds his voice again. Eddie freezes, halfway across the lair, and turns slowly to look at him. 

“Richie—“ Bev starts, touching his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. 

“Richie, please,” Eddie pleads. Richie shakes his head, stomping over until he’s right in front of Eddie. The smell of blood chokes him this close. 

“You just ripped It’s throat out with your fucking _teeth_ ,” Richie says helplessly, gesturing uselessly back at It’s body. 

“I know, I’m sorry you had to see that—“

“No, Eds, what the fuck, I don’t—I just want an explanation,” Richie says. “You’re—fucking crazy fast, and you were immune to It’s bullshit, we deserve to know _how._ ”

Eddie’s face changes from apologetic to confused, eyebrows pinching and head tilting in a way that Richie would be absolutely deranged to find cute while he’s covered in blood. And _yet_...

“You don’t—Richie you don’t _know_?” Eddie asks, flabbergasted. 

Richie whirls around, looking to the others for support. They’re all looking at Richie the same way, frowning in mutual confusion. 

“Know _what?_ ” Richie demands, looking between Eddie and the other Losers a little hysterically. 

“Eddie’s a vampire,” Mike explains matter of factly, absolutely no trace of irony in his voice. 

“ _What?”_ Richie barks, voice echoing loudly around the cavern. “He’s a _what?”_

“A vampire,” Eddie repeats. His fangs pop out for emphasis, and he points to them. “Obviously.” 

“Oh, _obviously,_ ” Richie breathes faintly. “How fucking _silly_ of me to not realize my best friend is a mythical creature, I’m _so_ sorry.” 

“I sent an email,” Eddie says simply, and that’s fucking _it_. 

“Fuck you,” Richie gasps out before he passes out. 

* * *

When Richie wakes up, it’s still the middle of the night, and he’s freezing. 

He blinks his eyes open to see Eddie peering down at him. 

“You really awake this time?” Eddie asks him. 

He’s no longer covered in blood. He looks the same as he always did, head haloed by the stars above him, and Richie realizes his head is in Eddie’s lap. 

“Not sure,” Richie croaks. His glasses slide onto his face, and then he can make Eddie out more clearly. In the distance, he hears water splashing and familiar laughter. “Waking up in Eddie Spaghetti’s arms is one of my recurring dreams, you know.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “What day is it?” he asks him. 

“Trick question,” Richie answers. “’S nighttime.” 

“Richie.” 

“I don’t know,” Richie sighs. “The eighth?” 

“Close enough. It was the eighth when we left,” Eddie says. “How many fingers?” 

He holds up four. “Three,” Richie answers, just to be a shit. 

Eddie nudges Richie’s head with his knee. “Dipshit. Come on.” 

“God, four. I’m fine, Eddie, I don’t have a concussion.”

“I know you don’t. I caught you before you hit your head, I’m just making sure I didn’t fry your brain.” 

Richie’s heart squeezes. He looks around, sees the other five swimming in the dark quarry. The moon reflects off the water, illuminating Eddie’s pale skin. He and Eddie are on the little beach—Richie can feel sand underneath him. “How did I get here?” 

“I carried you out,” Eddie says.

“Fuck,” Richie breathes, trying not to sound as turned on as he feels. “The whole way?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Ben and Mike helped in the well, but yeah.” 

“Sexy little gym rat in your old age, huh Eds?” Richie teases, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

“Actually, I’m still thirty-seven,” Eddie says, dimple appearing as he smirks. 

“Not fair,” Richie groans. 

“Come on, sit up.” 

Eddie helps him up, keeping a gentle hand on his neck to keep his head stable as he awkwardly shuffles into a sitting position. He’s never felt so uncomfortably human. 

Eddie keeps a hand on his neck, turning so he can face Richie as they sit on the sandy shore. He bends his knee, other leg slotting easily between Richie’s knees. Every point of contact feels like fire on his skin, despite the fact that Eddie is freezing. 

“So. You’re a vampire,” Richie starts, subtle as ever. 

Eddie only laughs. “Yeah, Rich. You don’t read your emails?”

“Steve filters my email and forwards me the important ones. Must’ve sent yours to the junk folder.”

“Wow,” Eddie deadpans. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—“ 

“I know, Rich, I’m kidding,” Eddie says. 

The hand falls from Richie’s neck to his forearm, then tentatively to Richie’s hand. “Ask me whatever you want.” 

“I don’t know where to start,” Richie admits with a huff of laughter. 

Bev shouts happily in the distance—Richie watches as Ben picks her up and tosses her in the water as though she weighs nothing. She swims back to him and wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Okay, I’ll just tell you then,” Eddie says, drawing his attention back to him. “I was turned when I was thirty-seven, like I said. I was in denial for a long time, because I’d forgotten that things like Pennywise existed for so long that I thought what I was was impossible. But then I embraced it, and started to really live my life. I left my wife—“ 

“You were _married?_ ” Richie interrupts. Eddie removes his hand. “To a woman?” 

“Yes,” Eddie answers evenly. “But I was unhappy. I knew I was gay, but it felt like too much of a hassle to get a divorce. I was too comfortable in our life together. But then I was changed, and I realized how empty my life was and decided I couldn’t live like that anymore.” 

“How were you changed?” Richie asks, wanting to get as far from this particular thread of the conversation as possible. 

Eddie’s face changes then, pinching uncomfortably. He looks at his hands as he speaks. “I was in a car accident. It was—bad. I was practically dead. The guy who changed me pulled me out of the wreckage. I thought he was a paramedic, he was fucking dressed like one. But he leaned down and whispered that he was going to help me. I barely felt his fangs, I was so far gone. I never saw him again after that.” 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes. He feels cold, chilled to the bone at the thought that Eddie was almost gone forever. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand again. 

“It’s okay, Richie,” Eddie says softly, twining their fingers together. “It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, really. I’ve lived my life the way I always wanted to since then.” 

“That’s great, Eds,” Richie says. “I’m happy for you.” 

Eddie looks up, giving Richie a long, searching look. “Something else happened when I changed.” 

Richie’s suddenly aware he’s still covered in blood and sewage. Eddie’s gaze is piercing, unwavering. 

“What?”

“I remembered you,” Eddie says. Richie can’t breathe. “All of you. Changing undid all of Pennywise’s magic, and I remembered everything.” 

They’re quiet, for a few moments, listening to the soft sounds of the others chatting in the water. Eddie keeps looking at him, like he’s trying to read his mind—

“Can you read minds?” Richie asks, and it startles a laugh out of Eddie. The tension bleeds and fades away as he laughs, Richie’s own mouth curling into a grin as he watches him hold his stomach through his laughter. 

“No, dumbass,” Eddie says breathlessly when he calms down. “I can hypnotize people, though.” 

Richie remembers the night before, Eddie dragging him to bed, the way he’d been so pliant to his demands. 

“You—you _shit_ , you—“

“I know, I’m sorry,” Eddie apologizes again, fingers tightening in Richie’s. “I never use it, not on anyone. You’re only the second person I’ve ever done it to. You were going to drive drunk and kill yourself, I had no choice. I’ll never do it again, I swear.” 

Richie softens. “It’s okay, Eds. I get it.” 

Eddie nods. They’re quiet for a moment, until Richie’s curiosity gets the best of him. 

“Who was the first person you did it to?” Richie asks. 

Eddie’s face darkens. “Tom Rogan.” 

It takes a moment to place the name. “Holy shit. Bev’s ex-husband?” 

Eddie nods. “He was just like her dad, Rich,” he explains, and that’s all that he needs to say. “I made sure she wanted out of the marriage first, and then I—convinced him to leave, and to never look for her again. So far it’s kept.” 

“Fuck, Eds.”

They both watch Bev press a kiss to Ben’s cheek, holding a casual conversation with Stan and Bill, looking as happy as Richie can ever remember her being. 

“Why didn’t you ever look for me?” Richie asks after awhile, so soft he almost thinks Eddie doesn’t hear him. But he does, of course. His face falls, and he looks unbearably sad. 

“I did, Richie,” Eddie admits. “I wanted to—to tell you—but you had your life, and you didn’t remember the horrors of your childhood. I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t come back into your life and bring that shit with me. Not to any of you.” 

Richie nods, throat tight. He wonders if he ever saw Eddie, if Eddie ever sought him out at one of his shows, if he was in the crowd without Richie noticing. 

“It was hard, though. Especially with you, I almost—“ 

He cuts himself off. Richie nudges his shoulder. 

“Almost?” 

Eddie’s face screws up miserably. “I almost cracked, with you. After one of your shows, you were at the bar, and you looked fucking _miserable_ , Richie, I just wanted to—I wanted to see you smile again.” 

“Eds,” Richie starts. Eddie won’t look at him. 

“I—fuck this is embarrassing. I came up to you at the bar and told you a knock knock joke, just to make you smile, and then I left.”

Richie remembers that night. The man who nudged his way into the barstool next to Richie and asked if he could buy him a drink. Richie had politely declined, and the guy had just shrugged. Richie remembers how he wouldn’t make direct eye contact with him, remembers thinking he was hot enough that he’d actually stuck around long enough to hear the stupid joke before going home and sadly jerking off to the handsome stranger that had made him laugh. 

“I remember,” Richie says quietly. “Eds.” 

Eddie stands suddenly, dropping Richie’s hand. “Come on. You’re disgusting, you need to get cleaned up.” 

He walks into the quarry without waiting for Richie and joins the others. Bev splashes him when he approaches, giggling when Eddie disappears underwater to dunk her. 

Richie doesn’t follow him. He stands, and walks the two miles back to the Townhouse alone. 

* * *

  
  


Eddie is a vampire. Eddie is gay _._ Eddie carried him out of the sewers, and held his hand, and told Richie he’d essentially stalked him just to see his face, to see him smile once before disappearing from his life forever. 

Richie has no idea what to do with any of that. 

The water pounds against his back, too hot and almost painful, the water pressure in the Townhouse being just this side of too good, but he welcomes it. He takes deep breaths, tries to force himself to accept his new reality, to accept that Eddie was probably right in staying away from him for all those years. 

When he emerges from the shower, skin raw and worldview officially altered, Stan is waiting for him on his bed. 

“Look, Stan, I’ll always remember our seven minutes in heaven fondly, but I’m not in the mood tonight,” Richie says, wrapping the towel tighter around himself as he digs for his sweats. 

“Heartbreaking,” Stan deadpans. “I’m not here for me, funnily enough.”

Richie sighs. “Stan—“ 

“No, I’m only going to say this once,” Stan says. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired and long suffering. “Eddie looked like a kicked puppy when he realized you’d left. You can’t do that to him.” 

“I promise you, Eddie isn’t even thinking about me,” Richie says. “He’ll get over it the second he returns to his super cool underground lair or whatever—“

“See, right there,” Stan says, standing and pointing a finger at Richie’s chest. “He feels judged, like you’re disgusted by him, or scared of him. He’s still Eddie.” 

“I know he is,” Richie snaps. “I’m all too aware that he’s still the same guy I’ve been ass over tits in love with my whole life, thank you very much Stanley.” 

Stan levels him with one of his looks. Richie hated them as a kid, and he hates it even more now. Stan looks straight inside him, and Richie squirms, knowing he won’t find anything good. 

“Talk to him, Rich,” Stan says quietly. “It’s almost sunrise, he’s still awake.” 

Without another word he leaves, leaving Richie feeling wrung out and confused. 

* * *

Richie knocks softly on Eddie’s door, like he hopes Eddie won’t be able to hear him. 

He does, of course. He answers the door silently, dressed in silk pajamas that Richie aches to feel under his fingers. 

“Come in,” Eddie says, stepping to the side to let Richie in. 

The door shuts behind them. Eddie’s room looks the same as all of theirs, save for the blackout curtain hung over the window. Richie hovers at the foot of the bed, leaning against the frame while Eddie seems to debate between sitting on the chair in the corner and standing. 

Richie nods at the curtain. “So does. Does sunlight, like, melt you?” he asks. 

Eddie smiles. He stands a few feet from Richie and crosses his arms. “No. It’s really painful though. Third degree burn kinda painful. I tend to get sleepy when the sun rises anyway, the way humans do when it sets.” 

“Huh,” is all Richie says. 

They’re silent for a few painful minutes. Richie looks around the room some more, then back at Eddie, who’s keeping a watchful eye on him. 

“Look, Richie,” Eddie says at last with a sigh. “You don’t have to—if you want to just forget this whole weekend ever happened, I can do that. If this is too weird for you. We don’t have to keep in touch, if that’s what you want.”

Richie’s heart sinks, and he takes an unconscious step towards Eddie. “That’s definitely not what I want, Eds.” 

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” Eddie asks. 

“Like what?”

“Like—like I’m a freak,” Eddie says. 

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” Richie hastens to explain, stepping closer still. He reaches out, ghosts his hand along Eddie’s shoulder before pulling it back to hang stupidly at his side. “I promise. It’s just… it’s a lot to take in in one night.” 

“I know, I’m sorry—“

“ _Stop_ apologizing. You can’t help being who you are.” 

Eddie looks up. “I’m sorry this is how you found out. I should have done it better.” 

“Well, you _did_ send an email, Eds,” Richie teases, lighting up like a Christmas tree when Eddie finally smiles. God, he’s missed those dimples. 

“I did, that’s true,” Eddie says with a grin. 

The grin turns into a yawn—the clock on the bedside table says it’s nearly six am. 

“Vampire bedtime?” Richie asks. 

Eddie nods. “Yeah. Lay with me?”

And so Richie finds himself crawling into Eddie’s bed, heart in his throat, settling under the covers with Eddie shuffling close. They’re face to face—Richie sees Eddie’s eyes droop, but he determinedly keeps them open. He’s cold when Richie covers his hand with his own, but Richie only pulls the covers tighter around his shoulders. 

“You want to know a secret?” Eddie asks him softly, just as the sun starts to poke in at the edges of the curtain. 

“You mean aside from the fact that you drink blood?” Richie asks with a chuckle. Eddie releases his fangs and hisses softly, making Richie laugh more. Eddie retracts them and grins. 

“Donated blood only, usually,” Eddie tells him. “There’s a whole network, actually—“

“Holy shit. True Blood was real?” Richie interrupts, and Eddie glares. 

“In a technical sense—yeah, there are people that offer their blood to us, but it’s not—that show got so much fucking wrong, it’s a fucking affront to the whole system—” 

“Do you glitter?” 

“Richie, I swear—“ 

“Can you see yourself in a mirror?” 

Eddie reaches out with his free hand and covers Richie’s mouth. “I’m way too tired for this. I’ll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow night. If—if you’re still here.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie baby,” Richie says quietly. 

Eddie gasps, a quiet sound that Richie almost misses, because in the next moment Eddie is surging forward and pressing his lips to Richie’s. 

His lips are as cold as the rest of him, but they warm under Richie’s quickly. Eddie moves to pull away, apology on his lips, but Richie captures his mouth again. Eddie kisses him back, presses his hand to Richie’s neck, trails it back to his hair. Richie hauls Eddie closer by his hips until they’re flush, mouth still chasing the addictive taste of him. 

Richie pulls back to catch his breath—Eddie is unbothered, takes the opportunity to dip down and press soft kisses to Richie’s neck. Richie feels it when his fangs appear, gasping when they graze his skin. 

“Sorry, they—it happens when I get worked up,” Eddie apologizes. 

“It’s okay, Eds, like. _Really_ okay.” 

“Good,” Eddie says before diving back in, lips and tongue working his skin over with occasional gentle bites that don’t quite pierce his skin, but leave him squirming all the same. 

Richie hums under him, and Eddie slows down until he’s trailing his mouth back up to Richie’s, kissing him deep and slow. When they break apart next, Richie is quietly panting and Eddie looks sleepy and sated. 

“That wasn’t the secret, by the way,” Eddie tells him. “Not to anyone here, anyway. They all know how badly I wanted to kiss you.” 

“And they didn’t tell me? Fucking traitors. We need new friends.” 

Eddie smiles. “You’re full of shit.” 

Richie answers by snuggling closer, burying his face in Eddie’s chilly neck. “I think you like me anyway.” 

“I do,” Eddie admits, carding a hand through his hair. “In fact, if you can believe it, I’m pretty crazy in love with you.” 

Richie goes very still, as does Eddie. He pulls his head back up and looks Eddie in the eye, finding no trace of irony, only the same old Eddie, _his_ Eddie, smiling softly at him. 

“In—love with me?” Richie repeats weakly. 

“Yes,” Eddie answers, voice unwavering and full of conviction. “If you knew how hard it was for me to leave you when I remembered everything—I fought myself everyday to keep from finding you again and telling you everything.” 

“You should have,” Richie says roughly, pressing forward to kiss Eddie desperately. “Fuck, Eds, I love you so much, you should have—you should have hunted me down, we could have—” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, thumb brushing gently under Richie’s eye, accepting Richie’s frantic kisses. “I’m sorry, I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” 

Richie kisses him, again and again until the exhaustion takes hold of them both, until their mouths are just barely brushing, until they’re not doing much else than sharing air. 

“Come back to LA with me,” Richie mutters quietly before Eddie drifts off. “Stay with me.” 

Eddie huffs. “Of course I want to Rich,” he says. “But I—I can’t fuck up your whole life.” 

“Of course you can,” Richie says, nuzzling closer until he’s pressing gentle kisses to Eddie’s throat. “I don’t have much of a life to fuck up. It could definitely use a little excitement. And a lot of Eddie Spaghetti.” 

“I sleep all day, Richie,” Eddie argues. 

“And I exclusively work nights,” Richie argues back. “I’ll get a vitamin D lamp, or take cat naps during the day to be up with you. I’ll make it work Eds, whatever you need. Whatever you want.” 

“I love you,” Eddie says, and it still makes Richie pinch himself to hear it. 

“I love you, Eddie,” Richie replies, sighing when Eddie tightens his arms around him. 

They’re almost asleep, drifting off fast, when Richie mutters, “Remember to tell Bill tomorrow he’s not allowed to write a book about you.” 

Eddie laughs. Richie does too, and they fall asleep smiling, their joined laughter echoing around the room as Richie falls into a dreamless sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> eddie: -k*lls pennywise in five seconds- what, like it's hard?
> 
> i really didn't know how to end this, so sorry it just sort of. stops. i really loved writing this though, maybe there will be a sequel someday :) until then, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/edskaspbraking)


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